
Qimm' ISLiJ 

COiOQRIGHT DEPOSIR 



|{^ RON II. C'OMSTOCK 






The Log of the Devil Dog 

JIND OTHER VERSES 



BY 



BYRON H. COMSTOCK 






Copyright. 1920 
By Byron H. Comstock 



DEC -8 1920 



CU602701 



5 

J The Log 

^ of the 

^ Devil Dog 

5 AND otheh 

VERSES 



De crainte que nous ouhlions 



CONTENTS 

Prologue * 9 

I have longed for the power of language, 
The Log of the Devil Dog 11 

This is the Log of the Devil Dogs, soldiers of 

land and sea, 
We Have Won 15 

The lurid sun has set on that final carnage. 
The Call 16 

You who have heard the bugles, have you not 

heard another call? 
Fate 18 

A giant orb whirls down thru space; 
The Song of the Shells 20 

This is the song of the shells, as they shriek and 

wail overhead, 
I Learned to Pray 22 

There, beneath that far flung canopy of gray. 
The Dead 23 

Thru the pomp and glare of victory comes an 

echo faint and deep. 
The Skyman 24 

Skyman am I, and I sweep the sky, pilot of the 

outer air. 
The Vision 26 

I stood inside a park, with flowers and colors 

gay. 
The Banshee. 28 

''Hist, did ye hear it not last night, 

5 



CONTENTS 



The Path of Yesterday 31 

When your mind and heart is at ease and you 
lounge before the hearth, 

The Spoken Word 33 

How strangely far, and yet how strangely 
close we lie 

Arm Chair Reveries 34 

I see once more the plains of France, 

Old Pal 36 

Old pal, do you remember when you and I 

The Future 37 

Tightly the veil is drawn on the things that are 
to be. 

The Ballad of the Amber Dice 38 

You want me to tell you a story, one that's 
funny yet nice. 

Soldiers of Fortune 41 

Soldiers of fortune they call us, 

Blue Sky .43 

Well sheltered by a rough-hewn pile of ties, 

The City of the Reborn 47 

There's a city of peace in my land of dreams, 

By the Pine Log's Glow 48 

Night, and the stars are gleaming diamond 
bright in the sky. 

The Plot 51 

You must have been in St. Aignan 
Barbed Wire 52 

There are two different kinds of wire 

Going Home 53 

They say we're going home, 

6 



CONTENTS 



The Dreamer 54 

There is a type they call the dreamer, 
The Trail 55 

Fve followed the city's asphalt ways 
All In 56 

Oh Fm not the man I was 

Gassed 57 

In a hospital bed 
Snap Out of It 59 

You're down and out, and you know it. 
My Choice 60 

If I had but a choice of lot 
L'envoi 61 



PROLOGUE 



/ have longed for the power of language, to write as the 

masters do. 
For I have seen the vivid heart of it, and I want to show 

it to you. 
Into that brutal blast, like clay in the firing pit. 
Gas, and flame, and shell, we were seasoned well in it. 

Hear the cries of the living, feel the chill of the dead. 
Look on the scars left by Mars, where the earth flared 

red. 
Be moved by laughter or tears, twin-born with the burst 

of a shell. 
See in a soldier s heart, as he stepped thru the gates of 

Hell! 



THE LOG OF THE DEVIL DOG 



THE LOG OF THE DEVIL DOG 

This is the Log of the Devil Dogs, soldiers of land and 

sea, 
Who came by fours, and came by scores, to fight for 

liberty. 
This is the Log of the Devil Dog, who fought to make 

us free. 

"Fm one of a hard boiled fighting crew, but if you'll listen 

straight, 
ni tell you the way, I came that day to buck against 

my fate. 
I had a mother, a sister and brother, the same as the rest 

of the bunch, ^ 

But in letters fine, I saw that sign and I got that 

cursed hunch. 

"It wasn't so much the picture, but the idea of waiting 

the call 
That got my goat, so I up and wrote my name above 

them all. 
For I was mad, but now Fm glad that my blood was a 

little bit red, 
Tho the rest of the day, they would point my way — 

'He joined for adventure,' they said. 

"I've always noticed down my life, that the gang that 

hollered the most 
Was the bunch that whined, and stayed behind, and 

didn't do nothing but boast. 
Well, maybe I joined for adventure, or for patriotic bunk. 
And if you'd seen me that day, perhaps you'd say I 

joined because I was drunk. 

11 



THE LOG OF THE DEVIL DOG 



"On an island spot, that got so hot the grass burned 

off the ground, 
They put us thru until we knew squads left and right 

around. 
They drilled us days, and worked us nights on roads of 

oyster shells, 
And taught us to shoot, and bayonet with shouts and 

curdling yells. 

**Their motto was tough, it was *Treat 'em rough!' and 

they sure carried it thru. 
Why they made us run in the red hot sun, when we'd 

nothing else to do. 
In eleven weeks, with sunburned cheeks, and muscles as 

hard as a nail. 
We sailed away across the bay, till we struck the old 

steel trail. 

"Two months we stuck, in the thick red muck of a place 

called Quantico; 
Till the 'High Command' called the Kaiser's hand, and 

we got the word to go. 
All day in the rain we rode the train, and at night we 

boarded the boat, 
And there wasn't a soul to say goodbye, or cheer as we 

went afloat. 

"Those were the days, when in crossing the pond, you 

took a fighting chance. 
But we fooled the sub, with our old Dutch tub, till we 

hit the shores of France. 
In the rain and the mud, we had to work, laying their 

beastly track, 

12 



THE LOG OF THE DEVIL DOG 



Till the}^ told us to quit, it was time to hit the Germans 
an awful crack. 

**Into the trenches of old Verdun, say, I never saw rats 

so tame, 
We started a 'Guerre' to make Heinie stare, and teach 

him the fear of our name. 
Every night, by the flare's white light, we watched the 

German line. 
And every day, we hid away in dugouts deep as a mine. 

"Then out of the trenches, and back of the lines to rest 

and train for a bit. 
We were learning the way to make them say, Tinish La 

Guerre,' we quit. 
We didn't like those English games, and the bunch were 

getting weary. 
So they shoved us in where the line was thin, in front of 

Chateau Thierry. 

**You may think that I fought for adventure — if I did 

I got my fill. 
For we met the square head, and we piled up their dead 

as high as any hill. 
We played the game in sun or rain, our motto was 

'Carry On,' 
And we showed our kick, when we pulled the trick in 

the battle of old Soissohs. 

"A company didn't last long then, they knocked them off 
like flies. 

But we're a hard boiled crew, tho only a few, and no- 
body cares when he dies. 

Now let me relate, we just couldn't wait, we had to give 
Heinie a feel, 

13 



THE LOG OF THE DEVIL DOG 



So with ten million dollars, we made iron collars for the 
gang at St. Mihiel. 

*'Then the)' drove us around in motor trucks for forty 
miles or more. 

You'd think 'twas a race, we fought every place to help 
'em win the war. 

Over ground m^ost chalk, we had to walk in a cold Octo- 
ber rain, 

But we chased them out, till retreat was rout — that's 
what we did at Champagne. 

^^Then back again, in another old bus, we went for a 

joy ride 
To a place where like moles, we slept in holes on the 

pitted foot-hillside. 
Here we held our ground, turned Heinie around and 

headed him straight for home. 
That's what we did, when we clamped on the lid, down 

in the old Argonne. 

*'And tho I'm thru, I'm still one of the crew and I'll be 

one till the last. 
For I see red, when I think of our dead, even tho war is 

past. 
There's things I've seen that seem like a dream, but you 

bet I won't forget." 

The Devil Dog paused at the end of his tale and reached 
for a cigarette. 

This is the tale of the Devil Dogs, on guard the world 

around. 
As foreign bells the hour tells in an unfamiliar sound, 
IVhile in graves laid deep their brave dead sleep in ever 

sacred ground, 

14 



WE HAVE WON 



WE HAVE WON 

The lurid sun has set on that final carnage. 
The barren misshapen trees bend low like gaunt spectres. 
A terrible figure, in cowl and gown, stalks across the 

blackened fields. 
On his fleshless face, a grin, as one 

Who sees his work well done in the battlers red rage. 
While, in a famous hall, the intellects of nations decide 
what will be written on the final page. 

Kind winter has spread her white mantle, to cover our 
rotting glory from the sun. 
But with the spring, grim relics of twisted steel peep thru. 
Mute testimony of abused power and misdirected force. 
While, here and there, a decayed hand reaches forth from 
shallow grave, as tho in silent protest 
At the folly of a world, and the ending of a life but 

just begun. 
In a famous hall, the learned have written victory on 
our page, and we have won. 



15 



THE CALL 



THE CALL 

You who have heard the bugles, have you not heard an- 
other call? 

Drowning the blare of the trumpets, sending its message 
to all. 

Flashing from mountain to mountain, written with flame 
in the sky; 

It shrieks from the frozen peaks, then dies away to a sigh. 

It booms thru the rock strewn valleys, long and loud and 
deep ; 

It floats on the breeze thru the evergreen trees, there 
where your comrades sleep. 

Listen, you'll hear it now, it's calling to you and to me. 

We haven't won till our work is done, and the earth from 
war is free. 

Hang up the blood stained sword, another age is born, 
This is the era of peace, never shall khaki be worn. 
Over that ground of horror, the plowshares of time shall 

sweep, 
Hiding the scars of that iron blast in furrows wide and 

deep. 
Never again shall we strike, with gas and flame and shell, 
Testing our unproved might, making of life a Hell. 

You who have seen the destruction wrought by the iron 

hand ; 
You who have seen death stalking unleashed thru the 

land ; 
You who have felt the curse of famine, disease, and pain; 
Have you not said to yourself, it must never happen again? 

In the flare of a flaming city, in the roar of a distant 
gun; 

16 



THE CALL 



In the fleecy clouds in the sky, in the rays of the somber 

sun; 
The message is seared in our mind, hope is new born in 

our life, 
This, when our duty is done, must mark the end of all 

strife. 

You who in days of anguish, cried aloud in your fear, 
Surely the cry hasn't passed you by, surely you will hear! 
Flashing from mountain to mountain, written with flame 

in the sky; 
It shrieks from the frozen peaks, then dies away to a sigh. 
It boom.s thru the rock strewn valleys, long and loud and 

deep ; 
It floats on the breeze thru the evergreen trees, there 

where your comrades sleep. 
Listen, you'll hear it now, louder than ever before, 
Arise and greet the dawn, mad Mars shall be no m.ore. 



17 



FATE 



FATE 

A giant orb whirls down thru space; 

A prophet comes to save the race; 

A comet sweeps across the sky; 

A generation live and die. 

Some meddling hand sows the seed of hate. 

And the dogs of war are loosed, Uis Fate, 

There is no choice, I am what I am to be, no more. 
To die in peace, to pass in safety thru a war, 
To soar like a meteor, to dwell where the elite dwell. 
To sink in the gutter slime till I crawl in the depths of 

Hell. 
Gripped, like a fragile toy, in the clutch of circumstance, 
I must do m.y fated bit, it is written, there is no chance. 
Ours but a part to play, and not the way to choose, 
Ours but to play the game, to win, perhaps to lose. 

A cobbler's son wins a fortune, in a trice we hail him 

king. 
A poor girl casts aside her rags, we pay to hear her sing. 
Some crank invents a new device, we read about his fame. 
An unknown author writes a book, a nation calls his 

name. 
See, they have broken the bonds, torn out the written 

page. 
We too shall seek the mountain peak and freedom from 

our cage. 
Lord of our soul we hunt the goal, free from heredity. 
With eager cry we hurl defy and laugh at destiny. 

So, when we gain that distant height, we are gods, om- 
nipotent, 

18 



FATE 



Never dreaming our frail success is some greater power's 

intent. 
We scofiE at the ancient saying, that, "what is to be will 

be;" 
We will choose our own pathway across life's squally 

sea. 
So, in his foolish reasoning, it never occurs to man. 
That the very thing that he has done is also part of the 

plan. 
And tho the path of the future is something we'll never 

know. 
Each little thing that we do was written long ago. 

A giant orb whirls down thru space; 

Each tiny atom has its place; 

A comet sweeps across the sky. 

As much of the plan as you and I. 

We cannot change this lot of ours, each has a fated 

part. 
Fate will rule us to the end, has ruled us from the start. 



19 



THE SONG OF THE SHELLS 



THE SONG OF THE THE SHELLS 

This is the song of the shells, as they shriek and wail 

overhead, 
Filling the air with their clangor, painting the earth with 

red. 
This is the song of the shells, as they reap their toll of 

dead. 

Crawl in your flimsy cover, cower close to the 

ground. 
We're coining closer and closer, we're dropping all 

around, 
Blanch with fright at our nearness, tremble there in 

your fear. 
Live again the past, for death is near, is near. 

Think of the joy of life, as you watch the minutes 

tick by. 
Think of the horrors of strife, hark to your com- 

rades cry. 
Another pal is gone, hear the cruel steel tear and 

burn, 
Burroiv yourself in the earth, soon it will be your 

turn. 

Closer, closer, and closer, surely the nerves will snap, 
Life is a fragile thing, unsure as a game of crap. 
Nearer, nearer, and nearer, they're throwing dirt on us 

now; 
Well, if a man has to die, he might as well show them 

how. 

''Give me the makin's pardner, we're moving out tonight, 
No use of letting these sea-bags get my goat with fright. 

20 



THE SONG OF THE SHELLS 



If we follow the road to the right, we're going back for 

a rest; 
But if we turn to the left, well it's up to the Lord, He 

knows best. " 

Creep along in the gutter — we'll get you — fall on 
your face. 

"If we pass the turn to the left, and turn to the right 
we're safe." 

You cant escape, you cant escape, you II draw your 
ration of pain. 

"We're turning off to the left, we're going in again." 

Some day we're going to get you, sometime your turn 
will come. 

This is the song of the shells, these are the words they 

hum, 
Till we laugh when we hear them burst, and our brain 

with the strain goes numb. 



21 



I LEARNED TO PRAY 



I LEARNED TO PRAY 

There, beneath that far flung canopy of gray, 
I caught the mystic presence of One Supreme. 

There in truth I learned to pray 

When watching, as in the poppy's dream, 

I saw the dawn her crimson glories bring. 

It made me glad, I felt my whole heart sing. 

Beneath that vast and leaden dome. 

Where, tiny like, we crawled from rock to tree, 
A black and blasted hole our home. 

Again I felt that presence, it seemed to me 
As tho I rose above all earthly things 
And stood where knelt a multitude of kings. 

Oh, I have learned in that harsh school. 
To see the truth where truth does shine. 

What I once scoffed, unknowing fool, 
I now do hold so fast as mine. 

I have not much to show 'tis true, yet I will say 

That when in my sad sky, I saw the light shine thru, 
I Learned to Pray. 



22 



THE DEAD 



THE DEAD 

Thru the pomp and glare of victory comes an echo faint 

and deep. 
Down in the wooded valleys, where a thousand shadows 

creep, 
Our dead are laid in graves new made, remember those 

who sleep. 

Each crude and uncarved cross, a fitting monument 
To mark, in life's frail curtain, each ragged bloody rent. 
They, in their awful silence, red pages in the story, 
Each a battered body, that paved the paths of glory. 

No garlands fair, nor trumpets' blare ushered into space 
These heroes, who were chosen messengers of the race. 
No, falling as they did, in the midst of that hot roar. 
Their graves are but the gates where the soul was left to 

soar. 
Into the realm of the unknov/n, unhampered by the clay, 
A garment of the earth, to be worn, then thrown away. 
Then what matter if the form does rest in some un- 
familiar place, 
The spirit has no fixed abode, and knows not time nor 
space. 

Forget the shape j^ou know, his soul will not be near it, 
For tho the end of mortal life is marked by the cross and 

we fear it. 
It is but the end of a single day in the infinite life of a 

spirit. 



23 



THE SKYMAN 



THE SKYMAN 

Skyman am I and I sweep the sky, pilot of the outer air. 
Where the eagles turn, the land I spurn, and pierce the 

sun's red glare. 
Gone is the dearth of the lowly earth, as the pathless 

space I dare. 

I am a king in the great blue ring of the vast and cloud- 
piled sky. 
I hold the land in my strong hand, to destroy if I try, 
And if I crush in the awful hush like ants, there is no crj^ 

Over fighting line and blasting mine, I watch the battle 

surge. 
To me the call comes faint, if all, and dim I feel the urge, 
And dim I see the earth's red spree and aftermiath, the 

dirge. 

I hover there in the sunlit air, and watch the bursting 

shell. 
I see men fall and that is all, I cannot hear them yell, 
As I watch from the sky, like a god on high, our travesty 

on Hell. 

Why am I here? I linger near, my purpose is to kill. 
I feel my might, and wrong or right, I long to see blood 

spill. 
I will see the slain like mountains lain before I get my fill. 

Novv sweep I down where the earth is brown with the 

tiny khaki clad; 
Then pull the strings, and the earth it rings with cries 

long drawn and sad. 

24 



THE SKYMAN 



A demon am I of the upper sky, and the slaughter drives 
me mad. 

I swoop and dive, none are alive vi^hen all my death is 

dropped. 
I train my gun on them in fun. Why can't my hand be 

stopped ? 
In madness I leap while the wounded creep, and the cup 

of death is slopped. 

Suprem.e I soar, and the motor's roar sings the old blood 

lust. 
I would not do the things I do, I swear not, but I must. 
What to me is earth's red sea and those specks in the 

lowly dust? 

Then up there soars, and above the roars I hear the 

spiteful spit. 
Two madmen fly in the empty sky, in their game of nerve 

and wit. 
A sickening crash, an oily splash, my God the tank is hit. 

A crackling sound, I dare not look round, why does the 

plane shake so? 
In a burst of flame no hand can tame, the plane drops 

hard and low. 
A skyman lost, I pay the cost, from Heaven to Hell I go. 



25 



THE VISION 



THE VISION 

I stood inside a park, with flowers and colors gay, 

While from every tree and bush the bunting flew. 
And I watched the little ones, as they ran about in play, 

Thinking little of to-morrow as young lads do. 
And the years slipped from my mind, I too became a 
child; 

I played again the games I knew in youth, 
I peopled tree and bush with some creature of the wild. 

And the fancies of my childhood became truth. 

Then of a sudden, came up a cloud and the sky grew cold 
and gray. 

The wind began to moan as tho in pain. 
And the laughter of the children faded away, 

And to m.y mind this terrible vision came. 
That 'gaily colored wood became a familiar place to me. 

And the faces of the children changed to men. 
At first it seemed it could not be, 

Then I knew, ah yes, I knew it then. 

For I heard the blasting blight of high explosive shells. 

And the terrible mighty roar of distant guns 
Mingled Vv^ith the tearing flesh and sudden stricken yells, 

As some brave comrade fell before the Huns. 
And trees were torn asunder by that awful man made 
thunder, 

And that peaceful edge of wood became a Hell. 
There never was a worse either on the earth or under. 

And the gallant chosen of a nation fell. 

Then I saw the field of battle, with its torn and twisted 
dead, 
Red glory for another history *s page. 

26 



THE VISION 



And my eyes were filled with tears, and my heart stood 
still with dread, 
As I looked upon the setting of that stage. 
Desolation, devastation, like some weird barbaric song, 

I heard a thousand huge shells shriek and scream. 
Then, as quickly as the vision had appeared, it all was 
gone. 
And the picture that I saw was but a dream. 

Then I stood once more within the park, and all was 
bright again. 
While from every tree and bush the bunting waved. 
And the voices that I heard rang with laughter not with 
pain, 
Still I felt the vision^s power, and I prayed 
That never again might we have cause to suffer and to 
mourn. 
But would hear the fallen as they cried. 
Save, oh save the generations yet unborn, 

It is the challenge of the millions who have died. 



27 



THE BANSHEE 



THE BANSHEE 

^'Hist, did ye hear it not last night, 
'Twas the wail of the old Banshee.'* 
So spoke brave Mike McCann 
The bravest fighting man 
That ever I did see. 

Nov/ Mike was an argumentative man, 
And would always prove his case. 

So I bet him in fun 

There was no such a one, 
But he bet with a serious face. 

"I tell 5^e it Vv^as," said Mike to me, 
'^ 'Twas the wail of the" family ghost. 

When ye hear that cry 

It means ye'll die, 
If it don't, I hope to roast." 

" 'Twas but the shriek of a shell," says I, 
^'Mayhap one filled with gas." 

All thru the day 

I heard him say, 
''Old pal, this day's my last." 

In the ashy dawn mid bursting shells, 
We started over the top. 

In a gush of lead, 

We forged ahead. 
Nothing could make us stop. 

All thru the day we crept along, 
Advancing foot by foot. 

28 



THE BANSHEE 



O'er bursting shell, 
I heard Mike yell, 
**The blithering fools can't shoot." 

As I crept along thru the crimson wheat, 
Mik.e got lost from me. 

To left or right, 

He was not in sight. 
Then I thot of the old Banshee. 

At night the fighting slacked a bit. 
So I looked about for my mate. 

Thru broken wire — 

Machine gun fire — 
Till I heard his thick voice prate, 

'*The dirty, blithering, bum shooting Hun, 
What shot me in the chist." 

"Sh, Mike," says I, 

^^If you're going to die, 
Them's cruel harsh words, desist." 

"Tho it grieves me, pal, to see you so, 
I guess you win that bet. 

It looks to me 

Like the old Banshee 
Has plunged me into debt." 

"Pat," says he as he looked at me, 
"I'll die, but I won't be wrong. 

We'll make that bet 

A heavenly debt. 
Don't keep me waiting long." 

A quiver, a twitch, poor Mike lay still, 
29 



THE BANSHEE 



He had died to prove his case. 
Tho it may seem a sin, 
He croaked with a grin 

And the smile stayed on his face. 



30 



THE PATH OF YESTERDAY 



THE PATH OF YESTERDAY 

When your mind and heart is at ease and you lounge be^ 

fore the hearth. 
Do you never travel back to that sorrow spattered earth j 
Along the road of memory to the salvage piles of dearth? 

Time with her soothing hand has hidden the marks of pain, 
But the path of memory is scarred and ever I see it plain. 
The endless stream of the sad, as they hasten along the 

road. 
Driving their flocks before them, bending beneath the 

load. 
The camions with their khaki clad, grim for the fight to 

come ; 
The train after train of steel-capped death to add to the 

hellish sum; 
And last the stream of the stricken, dirty and dripping 

with gore. 
Wrecks of what were the nation's best a few short hours 

before. 

The ragged broken wall where the sad-faced moon 

beams down 
On the racked and ruined pile, a travesty on a town. 
The street grass grown and still where the children once 

romped in play. 
The battered drinking trough for the cattle at close of 

day. 
The once white walls of a church, now blackened and 

splashed with red. 

Quiet the awful quiet of the unburied dead. 

The Kultured hand of steel has taken its bloody pay. 
And a thousand towns are left — but ghosts of yesterday. 

31 



THE PATH OF YESTERDAY 



The fields of rusted wire, where the luscious grape once 

grew, 
Have borne their deadly fruit, a harvest of crimson hue. 
Blackened, and seared, and torn, pitted with giant holes. 
Here human life was bartered cheap on the stock exchange 

of souls. 
Torturous, gloomy, forlorn was the road of yesterday, 
Yet time has hidden the scars, and fast it has faded away. 
Gone is the blackened past, covered forever from view. 
Lost in the blaze and splendor of the ever changing new. 

As you sit and dream by the fire, and it all comes back to 

you plain. 
The gloom swept road of yesterday with its sorrow, ruin, 

and pain. 
Do you pray as one zvho knozus, it may never be traveled 

again f 



32 



THE SPOKEN WORD 



THE SPOKEN WORD 

How strangely far, and yet how strangely close we lie 

To that dim place unknown. 
How sad it is, and drear, that when we die, 

And death has claimed us for its own, 
It seems so long to that far place, 
And yet the way is but a pace. 

Linked we are to that abode, far closer than we know. 

More delicate than the ether wave. 
When conscious of some pending blow 

We speak the message that it gave. 
And speaking seem to lend it weight. 
The spoken word becomes our fate. 

Attuned to catch the delicate whisperings from space, 

Our nerves do often hum 
With some warning of time and place, 

Yet so faintly we are numb. 
We do not speak, and it is gone. 
And unspoken it is undone. 

We have not touched upon the slender thread. 
We have dreamed it all beyond our ken. 

The subtle bond between the living and the dead, 
And yet I know that when 

We speak there is a power there, 

Some day we'll learn to dare. 



33 



ARM CHAIR REVERIES 



ARM CHAIR REVERIES 

I see once more the plains of France, 
With her roads of gleaming white. 

The graves of those who took the chance, 
The front as it looked at night. 

Once more I am one of the marching throng. 

With rifle, mask, and pack 
As we trudged along with a low hummed song. 

To be there at the next attack. 

The stars that shone from overhead 

With a solemn sort of gleam. 
The road that led thru that land of dead, 

'Twas all like a fearful dream. 

Then the flares shot up, without a sound, 

And hung little balls of light. 
And we lay round on the barren ground. 

And stared into the night. 

We hiked and hiked on the rim of the pit. 
Till it seemed we soon must drop. 

Then rested a bit in the red hot spit. 
Till they sent us over the top. 

In a gush of lead,. I see the dead 

Lie crumpled on the ground. 
By the mine ahead, the earth turns red. 

No Hell has such a sound. 

Creeping low in that land of woe. 
Like ants we play the game. 

34 



ARM CHAIR REVERIES 



To our death we go and the world will know 
Our price, but not our name. 

Again I see each lurid day, 

Each new and costly gain. 
And the battered clay, still seems to stay 

There rotting in the rain. 

I hear them cry — ''To-night — relief!" 

In a daze we stagger back. 
Do we still live? It's beyond belief. 

Then train for the next attack. 

That is my dream, and always will be, 
When I think of those days of care. 

That's what I see when I doze after tea. 
At ease in my old arm chair. 



35 



OLD PAL 



OLD PAL 

Old pal, do you remember when you and I 

Were camped along the Marne? 
Our bed the unkept grass, our roof the sky, 

And tumbling out at each alarm, 
Along the edge of that grim wheat 

We watched the gray clad lines advance. 
Until they met the great defeat, 

That changed the tide for France. 

Driving them back, hand to hand. 

Thru that trampled grain. 
We won that hard sought land 

But at a costly gain. 
Yet since it was written to be 

Your lot old pal, and mine, 
'Tis no small honor to have held the key 

In that desperate Paris Line. 

All honor and glory from war 

Are stripped, by those who know. 

No luster lurks in the cannon's roar, 
Nor in the saber's blow. 

And yet since these things were to be 
There does glow within some ember 

Which flames at the things I see. 
Old paly do you remember? 



36 



THE FUTURE 



THE FUTURE 

Tightly the veil is drawn on the things that are to be, 
Gently our vision is stopped, we may look but we cannot 

see 
Into the veil of the Future, into eternity. 

Often we think of the future, the land that is gold to us 

all. 
Longing to seek its treasure, feeling its mighty call. 
Eager to taste of its joys, ready to suffer its pain, 
The future holds nothing but joy, joy, pleasure and gain. 

Thus we pass thru the present, our eyes on a distant star, 
Getting our joy from the things to be, not from the things 

that are. 
Glimpsing thru the remoteness, the gorgeous hue of sky, 
Forgetting that present was future, forgetting until we 

die. 



37 



THE BALLAD OF THE AMBER DICE 



THE BALLAD OF THE AMBER DICE 

You want me to tell you a story, one that's funny yet nice, 
One that's fresh from the firing line and full of ginger 

and spice. 
Well I'll tell 5^ou the tale of a gambling man and a pair 

of amber dice. 

He was a gambler of the type who chance all on a single 

throw, 
Yes ''Doc" was the nerviest kind of a man that you 

would want to know. 
He'd often say in his laughing way, " 'twas a gamble 

when he was born, 
Of goodness knows what kind of clothes his carcass would 

adorn." 

When but in arms 'twas said of him, he knew the king 

and ace 
Long before he said ''m.amma" or knew his father's face. 
So up he grew and all he knew was cards and dice and 

chance. 
And he staked his life to win or lose there with the lads 

in France. 

There are men, who will bet when they are dov/n and 

out, and haven't much to lose. 
But "Doc" would bet at any time, it was the way he took 

to choose. 
He carried a pair of amber dice, known as the Gold Dust 

Twins, 
"Seven up," he'd say in his joking way, "and see that papa 

wins." 

One day I asked him for the time, and he rolled there in 

38 



THE BALLARD OF THE AMBER DICE 



my sight 
A six close followed by a five, I looked and he was right. 
Those dice were like a magnet and the money flowed their 

way, 
No matter how much jack I drew, he always spent my 

pay. 

By the light of a flickering candle as it spluttered there in 

the clay. 
He'd roll his point most every time and take our francs 

away. 
*^Boys," he said, '^I'd hate to lose this pair of amber dice, 
And as far as ever selling them, mere money isn't my 

price. 

"There's some men that fall for a woman, or get wedded 

to old John Booze, 
But as for me if I had my choice, it's these same dice I'd 

choose. 
They've stood by me good pals and true for almost ten 

long years 
And if I should ever lose them, I'd just flood this earth 

with tears." 

From the lousy straw of the rest camps, to the dirt and 
filth of the trench, 

He gambled with Canucks, and Russians, English Tom- 
mies, and French. 

Till far and wide was spread the fame of the amber dice, 

From the blasted towns at the front, to the furlough 
camps at Nice. 

Then in the heat of battle, when the air was a gush of 

lead 
And most of our pals were down, wounded bad or dead, 

39 



THE BALLARD OF THE AMBER DICE 



Along comes a sniper's bullet, straight it drove at ''Doc's'' 

heart, 
But he never turned a hair, and he didn't even start. 

He just reached inside his blouse and pulled out the Gold 

Dust Twins, 
And there in the palm of his hand, a piece of lead he 

spins. 
*'I always win on a seven," he said, ''but I'd like to get 

that pup." 
And I looked in his hand, and believe me or not, a six and 

an ace were up. 



40 



SOLDIERS OF FORTUNE 



SOLDIERS OF FORTUNE 

Soldiers of fortune they call us, 

We're the sons of the wandering foot. 
We thrive and flourish in any land, 

But somehow we never take root. 
Plowing the tractless waste. 

We are knights of the rolling stone. 
We've only one home and it's any place 

From the lights to the great alone. 

They tried to hold us fast, 

Chained down to desks of wood ; 
But we couldn't stand our prison, 

And we wouldn't if we could. 
We loved the great unleashed. 

Our music was nature's song. 
So we chucked the ways of ease 

And we chose the fight of the strong. 

Oh, they knew us back in Hong Kong, 

And from Frisco up to Nome. 
Thru the straits of Gibraltar 

We strayed, who had no home. 
An orchid grove our goal, 

A jungle trail our road, ' 
We sought the strange and new. 

Adventure was our code. 

In the gold fields of Alaska, 

And where they search for pearls. 

We tumbled many an air castle; 
Spent it on the girls. 

Ever eager, ever anxious 

For what lay just round the bend, 

41 



SOLDIERS OF FORTUNE 



We have missed the best of life 

In our search for the rainbow^s end. 



Thirty years of wandering 

From ice to desert sands, 
Thirty years of fighting 

In known and unknown lands. 
We have cruised a nameless ship 

Upon a chartless sea, 
And the pages of our log book 

Are but a memory. 

We're a travel wearied lot. 

And we haven't saved a cent. 
There is nothing left for us. 

And our life is almost spent. 
It's the price we pay for roaming. 

Well just make another bend. 
Perhaps we'll find the goal we seek, 

Perhaps it will be the end. 



42 



BLUE SKY 



BLUE SKY 

Well sheltered by a rough-hewn pile of ties. 

We scraped the snow from off the frozen ground. 

A fire we made by gray December skies 

And rolling up the golden grains, sat round, 
A group of three beside the snow piled mound. 

The while we waited for a passing freight 

To bear us where the winter snows are late. 

Adventurer, the boomer, rolling stone, 
Stray chips afloat upon a merciless sea. 

Hardshells we were who play the game alone, 
Nor seek o'er much of genteel company. 
Not held by any ties, unfettered, free. 

Some chance had dropped us by the water tank; 

We had no luck to curse^ no gods to thank. 

Deep plunged in silence of the past, we sat 

And watched the pine-sap feed the hungry flame , 

The bubbles in the stew and bacon fat 

Th^t floated there in chunks*' we knew our game 
And each had begged his share, no trace of shame 

For we were subjects of that larger state 

And bowed to nothing save the laws of fate. 

A blackened pail of fragrant coffee steamed. 
Deep in a glowing bed of coals it lay. 

Its rich aroma rose in whiffs and seemed 
To bring back memories of some other day, 
A place from which we'd drifted far away. 

Adventure-seeking over all the earth, 

A man somehow forgets the friendly hearth. 

It's hard to say just how the silence broke. 

43 



BLUE SKY 



Big Slim, a gloomy, gaunt, and dark-faced man, 
In husky tones, he was the first ^who spoke. 

'Tm Hamilton," he said, ''they called me Ham. 

A trusted clerk, I broke the law and ran. 
The same old tale, you've heard this kind before ; 
There was a woman, to her my life I swore. 

"A golden girl, a dream she was to me. 
All soft she was and silken in her Vv^ays ; 

Yes, such a girl, I'm sure you'd seldom see. 
We turned the dull nights into joyous days. 
Her eyes deep pools of brown, a languorous haze, 

They held me in a spell, I longed to stay 

All life seemed futile to me when away. 

''A job I held, tho nothing big, 'twas true, 
But steady and a prospect that looked bright. 

I lost my interest, wanted to be thru 
To hurry to my golden girl at night. 
I yielded to her lure and did not fight, 

Each jo5"ous day, she drove into my heart 

A desire to please, I feared that we might part. ^ 

"And then one day her tears, she was in need, 
A sum of money so large it seemed to me. 

I was her one true friend, she must be freed 
From all this worry, I kissed her, I would see. 
I was hard pressed but knew that it would be 

An easy thing to take, 'twas often done, 

And return the sum before they knew 'twas gone. 

**The time was gone more quickly than I thot, 
Inspectors came to make the year's report; 

I knew that soon they'd know, I would be caught. 
I told, she laughed, she could not help in court. 

44 



BLUE SKY 



^You've had your time,' she said, 'come be a sport,' 
And then I knew she lied and all was over. 
Since then I haven't cared, I've been a rover." 

"Most strange, most strange," the thick-set blond man 
spoke. 

As he stirred the coffee, plugged a tiny leak, 
Moved the stew and gave the fire a poke. 

"I knew a golden girl, such as you speak; 

Sh6 was a queen such as a king might seek. 
I had a home, a wife I loved, and yet ; 

Those soft brown eyes they held me as a net. 

"At first for friendship's sake, 'twas just platonic. 
We understood each other, nothing more. 

So soft and languorous as you say, a trick. 
And yet I breathed her sweetness to the core. 
For life had been so dull to me before. 

I traveled far along the dangerous road, 

She asked for more' and more, I bore the load. 

"And then there came, it always does, a day 
When all my house of cards fell at my feet. 

I read the papers, dazed, I heard them say 
Such things of she and I upon the street, 
All lies built on our days so indiscreet. 

It was the end, they turned against me, all. 

And she, just laughed, she could not help my fall." 

We rolled another fag and sat quite still ; 

The coffee simmered, the fire was just aglow. 
The wind began to bite, we felt no chill. 

I warmed rny hands and watched the stray flakes blow. 

" 'Tis strange indeed," I said, "Yet since none know, 

45 



BLUE SKY 



I was a doctor once, a home and wife. 

I loved her, well you know, she was my life. 

*^A dream, a golden vision she was to me — 
An angel, I saw a promise in her eyes. 

In those brown pools, so deep, I seemed to see 
All heaven spread before me, and her sighs, 
I thot they were for me, I found them lies. 

And then my life was gone, I turned all cold ; 

IVe been a wanderer since and now I'm old." 

The flakes came faster, I felt the cold wind blow. 
We rose and stretched, and wondered at men's fate; 

Shook and stamped our cold feet in the snow. 
'' 'Twas Elsie," said the blond, ''a name I hate." 
Far down the track I heard a whistling freight. 

Then Big Slim turned, ''Why, Elsie was her name." 

^'And your's?" ''Strange," I said, "Mine was the same.' 



46 



THE CITY OF THE REBORN 



THE CITY OF THE REBORN 

There's a city of peace in my land of dreams, 

Where the dead come back again. 
And every one is happy it seems, 

With never a thot of pain. 

And all w^ho failed in the life that is past 

Are given a chance to succeed. 
And those w^ho had naught when wt knew them last. 

Have all that a man could need. 

Here a man is measured not by his gold. 
But the fruits of a mind that is clean. 

And each one smiles at his toil, Fm told, 
Here in this land of dream. 

I often feel sad for those who are gone. 

And yet why should I mourn, 
For some day they'll greet us all with a song 

In the city where men are reborn. 



47 



BY THE PINE LOG S GLOW 



BY THE PINE LOG'S GLOW 

Night ,and the stars are gleaming diamond bright in the 

sky. 
Night, and the wind is sweeping down the lake and the 

pine trees sigh. 
Here in my little cabin, the e rubers flame and die. 

Here by the pine log's glow, 

In the flickering shadows cast, 
I watch them come and go, 

Dim figures from out the past. 
They dance and chortle with glee, 

They laugh and sneer with scorn, 
Somtimes I think they mock me 

And again I think they mourn. 

Why should her face still haunt me 
. Here on the edge of the world ? 
Why should I not be free 

Here where the vast is unfurled? 
We were but one at the first. 

She with her dream of a home; 
I by ambition was curst. 

And I w^anted to seek it alone. 

So, 'twas agreed that we part. 

I would return in a year, 
Once I had made my start 

And the road to my goal was clear. 
There in the muck of the crowd, 

I strove to grasp my star 
As, thru youth's silver cloud. 

It beckoned me on from afar. 

48 



BY THE PINE LOG S GLOW 



Proud I was in those young days, 

And failure just couldn't be. 
But oh, how I hated the narrow ways 

And longed for the wide and free. 
I yearned to feel the Arctic hand 

Clutch at my very soul. 
To see this wild and pathless land 

From the equator up to the pole. 

So, cursed with the wandering feet, 

Tho ambition was burning my heart, 
I put off the day we would meet 

And postponed the time of my start. 
Till the days and weeks went by 

And the months crept into a year. 
Sometimes I thot I would try, 

Sometimes I wished I could hear. 

Once, in the heart of Nome, 

Where the frozen lightnings dart, 
I wrote her I was coming home; 

I really meant to start. 
I waited six months at least. 

But never a word did I get. 
Then I hit for the golden East 

On the trail that makes you forget. 

Where the oily waters ebb and flow 

Between the cypress knees, 
And where the gay festoons of snow 

Hang in bunches from the trees, 
IVe tried to ditch this crooked trail. 

Get something good, hold fast, 
But every time I try, I fail, 

ril be a roamer to the last. 

49 



BY THE PINE LOG S GLOW 



Often times I wonder, dear, 

If you ever think of me. 
I wonder if you see and hear 

The things I hear and see 
Here where the pine log's blast 

Fights the great white chill. 
God knows, I loved you in the past 

God knows, I love you still. 

^Nightj and the stars are gleaming diamond bright in the 

sky. 
Nightj and the wind is szueeping down the lake and the 

pine trees sigh. 
Here in my little cabin j the embers flame and die. 



50 



THE PLOT 



THE PLOT 

You must have been in St. Aignan, 

Perhaps you know it well 
The place my story dwells upon 

Is no secret if I tell. 

There on a stately pile of stone, 
An ancient windmill stands. 

Tower like it stood alone, 
A tool in my fell hands. 

For I once walked a post 

Outside that prison wall, 
And there as I did roast, 

I plotted St. Aignan's fall. 

My plan was simple as sin 

Vm sure you'll all agree, 
For I had but to pull the pin 

And set the huge arms free. 

So when the wind was blowing hard, 
Like some weird prowling ghost 

I crept upon the tired guard. 
As he slept there on his post. 

With a roar strong and deep, 
I had pictured it that day. 

From those mighty arms would sweep 
A gale, to blow St. Aignan away. 

But the god of chance is with the right. 
And not with those who sin, 

For tho I hunted all the night, 
I could not find the pin. 

51 



BARBED WIRE 



BARBED WIRE 

There are two different kinds of wire 

Here in this land of France, 
And each breeds a big desire 

For a man to take a chance. 

There's the kind of wire hid in the grass, 

Before each front line trench: 
And the kind of wire that comes in a glass. 

And is labeled ''Cognac-French." 

Now there's many a lad has escaped the first, 

And has every right to feel glad. 
But let him take care and curb his thirst 
^ For the stuff that makes men mad. 

For the first is strong and holds you tight 

In an octopus kind of grasp, 
But the wire that's hardest of all to fight. 

Is the wire that gets you last. 



52 



GOING HOME 



GOING HOME 

They say we're going home, 

Somehow it don't seem true 
That I can be going home, 

After all that I've been thru. 

I've offered up many a prayer 

When the stars shone bright overhead, 

And by the sudden light of a flare, 
Everything looked so cold and dead. 

And the prayer I said was this, 

Much as a child would say, 
**Oh, Lord, please grant my wish. 

And take me home some day." 

And when the bullets were singing. 

And men dropped here and there with a moan, 
Voices in my ears were ringing, 

The voices of those at home. 

So now we're going back, 

And I promise never to roam. 
When once I unroll my pack 

In the place called Home Sweet Home. 



53 



THE DREAMER 



THE DREAMER 

There is a type they call the dreamer, 

They're the hard-luck kind of men; 
They love the name of schemer, 

Tho they're bound to desk and pen. 
By the shaded office light 

Buried in a ledger deep, 
In their minds they're in a fight 

Where the torrid rivers creep. 

Their minds aboard a clipper, 

Where they plow^ a tropic sea 
In the leading role of skipper 

They are lawless, bold, and free. 
Their thots are always chasing 

Down the trail of ''Like to Do," 
And there's plenty of erasing 

In the books when they are thru. 

They are boomers, they are fighters, 

They are captains of finance 
And they long to hit gray freighters 

To the lands of fighting chance. 
But they're tied to job and sweetheart 

And their life is only planned. 
So they dream about the big start 

Till they're laid beneath the sand. 



54 



THE TRAIL 



THE TRAIL 

IVe followed the city's asphalt ways in a blaze of bottled 

light. 
IVe made myself old in the chase for gold and thrown it 

away at night. 
I've watched the morbid fed up throng in their limousine 

parade 
From a big hotel or boudoir swell to the door of a waxed 

arcade. 

I've draped myself on a marble stand till I'm puffed with 

hasty lunches. 
This ninety mile pace is killing the race, I'm living life 

in bunches. 
I'm puffy, and pasty, and pallid, and I know I'm slipping 

behind. 
So I'll hit the trail before I'm too frail, I'm sick of the 

city's grind. 

Yes, I'll hit the trail w^ith a pal or two, as I did once 

long ago. 
And we'll sit by the light of a camp fire bright in places I 

used to know. 
There in the open I'll try to forget this super ultra stuff, 
A pal or two, a simmering stew and the trail will be enuf. 



55 



ALL IN 



ALL IN 



Oh Fm not the man I was 
Since I came into this game. 

And I claini I have good cause 
To never be the same. 

Walking five good miles 

In mud up to our knees, 
Trying to keep all smiles 

As we dry out by degrees. 

Sleeping in a damp, dark dugout, 
When we get any sleep at all, 

On watch doing turn about 
And answering every call. 

Hiking night after night 
And most of it all up hill, 

No wonder we wanted to fight, 
Or were ready and eager to kill. 

Eating nothing but slum. 
And most of it was thin. 

No wonder we looked for rum. 
Feeling so weak and all in. 

No, Fm not feeling right, 

Fm not the man I used to be, 

But in case we have to fight, 
Well, Fm a soldier of the Sea. 



56 



GASSED 



GASSED 

In a hospital bed 
Right next to me, 

A man with a whisper lay, 
And when he'd speak 
His voice would squeak 
In a most peculiar way. 

And when I asked him why, 
With an effort he'd try 

To tell, hov/ he was the last 
Of a handful of men 
Who faced Heinie, and then 
Were all so terribly gassed. 

'^Eleven times I was gassed, 

Each time worse than the last," 

Was the story he told to me. 

"Of all the men 

Who faced them then, 

I'm the only one you'll see. 

" 'Twas the division known as 'Jawbone,' 
When lost in the famous Argonne 
Where thousands around me fell. 
But I'll tell you right, 
We put up some fight 
And sent many a Hun to Hell." 

And so each day. 
As my comrade lay 

On his bed close to my head, 
He'd tell his tale, 

57 



GASSED 



Till I'd turn pale 
With horror, at all he said. 

Oh he would spout 
Day in day out, 

We never had a chance 
Until I heard. 
The poor bird 
Had but six months in France. 

Then goodness knows 
Grave doubts arose, 

Was he gassed as much as that ? 
He might have been 
But it sounded thin, 
Was he talking thru his hat? 

The very next day 
I heard Doc say: 

''Who wants to go to the U. S. A.?" 
Then this bird that spouts, 
He up and shouts, 
"I do,'' you could hear him miles away. 



58 



SNAP OUT OF IT 



SNAP OUT OF IT 

You're down and out, and you know it. 
You haven't the price of a chow. 

Your clothes are in rags, 

Your lower jaw sags. 
But snap out of it — win somehow! 

YouVe lost your best friend, maybe true, 
And you can't find a bit of work. 
But you never can tell 
Till youVe tried damn well, 
Snap out of your hop — don't shirk! 

Your wife has eloped with another, 
Your house has burned to the ground. 
But don't let them say 
Your mind gave way. 
Snap out of it — )^ou'll pull round! 

You may have plenty of hard luck, 
There's lots of it here in this place. 
But don't turn about 
Till they've knocked you out. 
Snap out — look the world in the face ! 



59 



MY CHOICE 



MY CHOICE 

If I had but a choice of lot 

In this vast sea of woe, 
If I had but to choose the spot 

Where I most want to go. 
Tho I must swear an oath most cold, 

I never more would roam. 
Still would I choose, tho I be old, 

That dearest place of all, my home. 

Tho I'd ranged this world about, 

From sand to Arctic sea; 
Tho I'd seen great geysers spout 

In the land of the red wood tree; 
Tho I'd sat in chairs of gold 

Beneath some jeweled dome; 
Still would I choose that place of old. 

There is no place for me like home. 

No place for me on all this earth, 

So fills my cup of pleasure. 
No mine in all this land is worth 

So much, each tiny measure. 
Were you to find all wisdom writ, 

And bodied in a tome, 
Still would you say, ''The best of it, 

And the best of life, is home." 



60 



L ENVOI 



L'ENVOI 

You who zuere there in the thick of it. 

You who have played the game. 
You who have lost some one dear in it 
Have read this in his name — 
Not as the critic reads, 
I am no genius born. 
But as a chronicle of deeds 

And memories of those we mourn. 

'Dimly I see thru the haze 

In constant changing scenes. 
Our passing along the ways. 
All like a dream it seems — 
Yet if you catch my spirit^ 

Tho you know the touch I lack. 
Still you zuill read and revere it. 

You will dream and your heart will go hack. 

This is the story of life 

As it seemed to me in the line. 
This I have gleaned from the strife, 
Crude ore from wars red mine — 
So if you feel the thrill, 

'Tis the work of a soldier s hand; 
And if you bear it good will, 

I am pleased that you understand. 



61 



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